


Spare the Rod

by Cornerofmadness



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-26
Updated: 2012-01-26
Packaged: 2017-10-30 03:38:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/327331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cornerofmadness/pseuds/Cornerofmadness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She loves her sons but some days, killing them is tempting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spare the Rod

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer -- Arakawa owns them  
> Timeline/Spoilers -- set when the trio is young  
> Author’s Note -- Taking a break from making my tenure portfolio and wanted something a little more light hearted. Thanks to evil_little_dog for the beta

Trisha rubbed her forehead, trying to will away the throbbing. Her sinuses felt stuffed to the point of breaking. A headache didn’t mean that there was any less work to do. The tomatoes wouldn’t can themselves, no matter how much she wanted them to. She was just glad Pinako had come over to help out. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a school day, and that meant all three of the kids were home, forced inside by the rain.

A large tornado would make less noise and mess than her sons when coupled with Winry. She had no idea what they were doing now, but Trisha half expected her ceiling to come crashing down. She gave the plaster overhead a baleful look.

“You need to be firmer with them,” Pinako said, peeling the skins off the blanched tomatoes. 

“I don’t like to yell. Kids need to be allowed to be creative,” Trisha replied. She and Pinako had had this discussion before. “I’ll go see what they’re doing.”

Trisha followed the noise down the hall to her bedroom. They knew better than to play in there. Frowning, she opened the door to see the trio bouncing on her bed. For reasons she didn’t want to know, Ed was in one of Hohenheim’s forgotten suits. Winry and Al wore two of her dresses, their faces painted brightly with Trisha’s make-up. Her headboard slammed into the wall with every landing they made on the mattress. The looks of joy on their faces made her hesitate only momentarily before ruining their fun. “What are you three doing? Alphonse, what is all over your face?”

“Ed tol’ Winny t’do it,” her youngest protested.

“Get off the bed, get out of those clothes and Winry, you and Al march right into the bathroom and wash your faces.”

Ed flung himself face down on the mattress, kicking and flailing his protest. Trisha left him there, choosing to herd the other two into the bathroom where she could supervise their face washing. By the time everyone was relatively clean and in their own clothing, Trisha’s headache had redoubled. 

She joined Pinako in the kitchen in time to help throw more tomatoes into boiling water to blanch. She told the mechanic what the kids had been doing and Pinako snorted.

“Should have tanned someone’s fanny. I set the kettle on. It should be about ready. Once we get this batch out of the water and into the ice bath, we can take a break.”

“Sorry about leaving you to do most of the work,” Trisha said.

Pinako waved her off. “Kids _are_ work.”

Trisha tried to ignore the sounds of the kids running through her house as she and Pinako readied the current batch of tomatoes, but it felt like they were racing around in her head. She was more than grateful to sit on the couch with her tea.

“You look tired,” Pinako observed.

“I wish Hohenheim would come back soon,” Trisha said, sipping her tea. “These boys will be the death of me. They’re getting so big and unruly.”

“I know the feeling. Urey was a pain in the ass some days.” Pinako grinned. “I’m just as glad I didn’t have two right together.”

“Most days, they play together pretty well, but then there are days when Ed lives to torment Al,” Trisha said, feeling something bump the couch. “Is someone behind this couch?”

“Shh, we’re playing tag. I don’t wanna be it,” Al said.

Sighing, Trisha put her tea cup on the table and twisted so she could peer at her son. “You can’t hide back there, Al. Come on out.” She leaned over and extracted him from between the couch and wall. “Edward! Winry! No playing tag inside the house. Find another game. We have a whole closet full of games!” Trisha let Alphonse go with a light tap to his bottom and he trotted off.

“I’d say send them out to play in the rain, but we both know that means Winry and Edward rolling around in mud puddles and Alphonse crying because they got him dirty,” Pinako said.

Trisha sighed again, nodding her head. That only served to make the pain worse. She only half listened as Pinako related a story about something her son had done when he was Ed’s age. Hoping a lack of light would ease her headache, Trisha shut her eyes. They snapped open when she heard something squishy falling and raucous laughter from the kids.  
“Want me to see what the hell they’re doing now?” Pinako offered.

“No, chances are whatever it is, Edward got them into it. I’ll check it out.” Trisha dragged to her feet and went into the kitchen, hearing them laughing still.

“Your turn, Winry!” Ed said.

Trisha stared at her ceiling, now spotted with at least three red marks. Winry tossed another tomato up there, but it fell down immediately. The little girl stamped her foot.

“Mine will stick.” Ed hurled a tomato, splattering it. It clung to the ceiling.

“One, two,” Al counted, but the tomato fell before he got to three. “Haha, mine stuck longer. I win this round!”

“What are you _doing_!” Trisha shouted.

All three of them dropped their tomatoes onto the floor, their eyes wide. They didn’t answer her.

“I asked, what are you doing?”

“Seeing who can get their tomatoes to stick longest,” Ed offered up hesitantly.

“I don’t want to kill you, but I will if you three do not settle down right this minute.” Trisha shook her finger at them, then flung her arm out toward the utility cabinet. “Now pick up some rags and clean this mess up while I go get a mop.” 

They stared, frozen by her outburst.

“Move it!” Trisha stomped her foot.

The kids scattered, running around to get the rags. Trisha turned and saw Pinako in the doorway.

The old woman smiled. “Told you, firm hand. It works every time.”


End file.
